


Iron-Souled

by hells_trash_can



Category: Iron Man - Fandom, Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Acceptance, Child Abuse, Genius Kid, Homophobia, Howard Stark's A+ Parenting, Howard Stark's Bad Parenting, Kidnapping, M/M, Parent Death, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Rape, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Torture, teenage relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-27
Updated: 2020-05-27
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:07:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24404032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hells_trash_can/pseuds/hells_trash_can
Summary: Following Tony’s life as a child in an abusive home, through his time in Afghanistan, and then some. Yes, this is also a love story, but that’s kind of a side plot.
Relationships: Tony Stark and Jarvis, Tony Stark/Steve Rogers
Kudos: 18





	1. Chapter 1

A small boy lay in his room, head under the covers. He was crying. They were being loud again. Mother and Father. They yelled at each other. He hit her. She threatened to call the police. They got louder.

They screamed about everything, and anything. Whatever was at fault for ruining their lives at that particular moment. Most of all, they yelled about the boy.

And through it all, Tony hid.

He was four years old and already he knew the wrath of a loveless home. He knew what it was like to see his mother waste away, given up on life, and only putting herself into her morphine addiction. He knew what it was to see his father driven to a rage so powerful he was transformed into another being. He knew what it was to watch his mother get beaten. 

He knew what it was to get beaten.

He knew what it was to be drowned, or near to it, anyway.

He knew what it was to see his mother driven mad by her own depression, to the point in which she would hold her only son under the water of his bath, waiting for him to die.

He knew what it was to be unloved by the two people in the world who were meant to love him unconditionally.

He knew that at night, when Father came home late, he should hide. He knew that’s when it got loud, and that’s when he shouldn’t get in the way, or else.

Tony curled up tighter, and whimpered quietly. He wished someone would come. But he knew they wouldn’t. No one ever did.

The night wore on, and eventually, exhaustion stole consciousness from him. He slept. And he dreamt. 

…

His feet were bare, in the warm sand. The sun was high, and the blue sky stretched endlessly over the horizon. Water, crystal clear and nearly the same blue as the sky, rose up to meet its reflection in an almost intangible line. A few wispy clouds drifted lazily, in synchrony with the sea foam that slowly washed toward shore.

He walked out toward the water, feet sinking into the wet sand as he approached the water line. Lazy waves lapped at his feet, and small pebbles dug into his toes. The water was cool and crisp, in contrast with the hot muggy air that encompassed him. 

Tony waded in deeper. Small fish, minnows, darted between his legs. He giggles, and bent down to dip his hands in the water, small fists grasping at the tiny creatures. They were too fast for him, but the fun was in the chase. He splashed further into the water, playfully chasing his prey. The sun beat down on his back, casting his shadow though the water and onto the sandy floor beneath. It rippled and quaked with the waves, distorting into a whole new person.

Behind him, on a couple of beach towels, lay his parents. They’re happy, smiling, and laughing. They hold hands. They’re drinking wine together. They’re watching their beautiful boy play in the water, and basking in the warmth of the perfect afternoon weather. Everything is right. 

“Tony, bambino, vieni qui!” Maria called out to him, beckoning him back to her.

Tony turned from his game with the fish, and smiled back at his mother and father before wading back towards them out of the water, and running across the sandy expanse of beach. Sand stuck to his wet feet.

His mother pulled him into a hug and kissed his cheek, and then said, “Look at the camera, bambino, and smile!”

She directed his attention to Howard, who stood with a camera. Maria hugged him, and he giggled, smiling.

SNAP!

A perfect moment, captured, frozen forever.

When Tony woke, he felt content, as though lost in a good memory. The troubles of last night seemed small.

…

Tony’s life was largely composed of independent behavior. He woke up in the morning, walked to his bedroom door, cracked it open and listened for anyone else in the house to see if they were awake. If the coast was clear, he’d slip out and head to the kitchen, where he’d get himself a bowl of cereal. There were many days he went without breakfast for fear of having to face one of his parents in the early hours.

When Tony was old enough to go to school, he’d get himself ready, get himself up. He didn’t like school very much, but it was better than home. He may not have gotten on well with the other students and the teachers, but at least they couldn’t hurt him like Mother and Father did. 

By the time Tony had reached the first grade, his parents had hired a butler, who went by Jarvis.

Jarvis was good to Tony. They quickly became really good friends, Jarvis becoming Tony’s first ever real Father figure. Jarvis made sure Tony was ready, had packed a lunch, got to school, got home from school, did his homework. It felt good to have someone care what Tony did.

School sucked, in Tony’s humble opinion. He didn’t get the other kids. He played better with older kids. His teachers treated him like he was dumb. Tony knew why. He didn’t speak to them. He only did his homework when he was exceptionally bored and had nothing else to do. He didn’t understand why they forced him to do such stupid work, anyway. Tony had understood all of these concepts before even kindergarten, so why should he bother filling out a worksheet?

And then his teacher, Mrs. Hildebrand, who had a sickly sweet voice and a fake smile, would try and talk to him, to coax him into telling her why he wasn’t doing his work.

“Do you not understand, sweetie?” Tony hated her pet names. They were dripping in fake syrupy sweetness. “It’s okay to ask for help. It’s okay if you’re slower than the other kids.”

Tony glared at her. Why did she talk to him like he was two? Why should Tony answer her, with respect, if she couldn’t respect him? Respect had to be earned, and if she were too dumb to have not realised that by now, she was the one who should still be in the first grade, taking extra lessons during recess for being stupid.

Tony silently stewed, not understanding why all the other kids got free time while he had to sit in a desk an endure mind-numbing torture from this old bat.

One day, while trying to get Tony to tell her what two plus seven was, Tony decided he had enough. He stood up and began to walk away. 

“Ah, ah, ah. Where do you think you’re going?” She had grabbed Tony’s arm, “ Tony, you know we need to work on this before you’re allowed to have recess. Why don’t you sit down and try again. Why don’t you tell me what you think.”

Tony snapped. He yanked his arm away from her, and made an annoyed huf of a sound. Fine. This woman wanted Tony to talk to her, to communicate his thoughts? Okay. He could do that. But he wouldn’t sink so low as to speak with her. Not until she could talk to him as though he were a human himself. 

He marched up to the front of the classroom, angrily shoving past her on his way. Hildebrand said to him, in an admonishing tone, “Tony, I need you to return to your seat. So that your butt is in this chair. Here.”

Tony glared more. What, did she think he couldn’t speak english? Couldn’t understand her? Fine. She can think that, but it won't stop him from proving her wrong. 

He walked up to the chalkboard, picked up some chalk, and began writing, using the nice loopy cursive alphabet he had seen in a library book when Jarvis had taken him to the library.

He wrote furiously, intent on putting this woman in her place. He used a few choice words, as well, and even wrote those certain words in italian, knowing that the woman didn’t speak a word of the other language and wouldn’t be able understand what he was calling her.

 _I do speak, you know. I know what you’re saying, and I know what you want me to say in return. I simply don’t care, and don’t think you’ve earned the respect to be making such demands. I don’t see the point in answering you, you’ll only ask me more stupid questions, have me complete more stupid problems. Really, addition? As though I can’t count. Any half-wit has already used additio in their day-to-day lives. I’ve already used multiplication, and division as well. It’s all the same. You sit here and expect me to listen to you, why exactly? Because you’r e older? What, does that make you smarter? I don’t think so. Non sei altro che una vecchia stupida cameriera che non riesce a comprendere il concetto di un altro essere umano con potenzialmente più cervelli di te._ (you're nothing but a dumb old maid who can't comprehend the concept of another human being with potentially more brains than yourself.) _Learn to respect me, just a little, and I’ll do the same for you._

Tony turned and glared at her, watching her expression while he wanted for her to finnish reading. He saw her brow furrow, and knew she couldn’t comprehend the Italian. When she was done, she looked at him, taken aback with shock. She didn’t appear to know what to sy.

Tony spoke for her. “Good. I see you’re on the same page now. I’m leaving. The building. I’m going to go to the library, where I know no one will try to rot my brains. My IQ, instead of dropping, as it most certainly has in this class, may even stand a chance of increasing. I’ll see you tomorrow, Mrs. Hildebrand.”

And with that, he marched out of the classroom. Needless to say, he was in a rather large spot of trouble later, for walking out of school, but he did at least find himself taking placement tests the next day, and was moved to the fourth grade within the week. 

Well, at least school would be more bearable now. Right?


	2. Chapter 2

Someone was shaking his shoulder…

“Tony, wake up.”

“G’way”

“I’m very sorry, young sir, but I’m afraid this is a matter that can’t be disputed.” Jarvis said, giving Tony’s shoulder another shake.

Tony rolled over, and pulled the covers up further around himself, allowing the warmth to envelope him. From beneath the pile of blankets, he whined out in a slightly muffled voice, “But Jarvis, it’s my birthday. And Saturday. This is like the one day I should be allowed to sleep in.”

“Yes, sir, I’m aware it’s your birthday. Congratulations on reaching a whopping ten years of age,” Jarvis replied, voice teasing and full of sarcasm. “Now, really though. You must get up. I’m not the only one who has remembered your birthday, surprising though it may seem. Your father wants to see you.”

What? That peaked Tony’s interest. He sat up in bed, and squinted against the light, eyes focussing on Jarvis. “Dear old Dad wants to talk to me? What the hell could that drunken bastard possibly want?”

“Language, sir. Your Father is sober sometimes, you know. It appears to be one such time. I believe he has something of a gift for you.”

“A gift,” Tony raised an eyebrow skeptically. “At six in the morning? What the hell does he have against normal time?”

“Don’t you let your father hear you speak like that. He wouldn't appreciate it. Your father is strict, as you know. He wants to make a respectable man out of you. In his words, “It’s time you learn some responsibility and shape up to be something other than a disappointment.””

Tony rolled his eyes, despite the hurt that the words sparked, “Love you, too, Dad,” he mumbled sarcastically.

Sighing dramatically, he dragged himself from his bed. Jarvis held out a tailored suit for him, saying, “Take a shower. Put this on. Your father will see you in the foyer in 30 minutes. Be prompt. And for your own sake, please do not find any way to antagonize him.”

Tony looked into Jarvis’s eyes, about to make a retort about how the old geezer deserved to be antagonized, but stopped short when he saw the pleading look of concern. He lowered his eyes and nodded. He waited for Jarvis to leave, and then headed into the bathroom to shower and change.

…

Thirty minutes later, Tony entered the foyer, dressed to his father’s standards. Howard stood waiting, and upon Tony’s arrival, barked out, “About time. Now, follow me into my office.”

Howard walked through an adjoining doorway, one that Tony knew led to his father’s office. He’d never been allowed in there. Once, he had run into the room to escape his father’s drunken fists, only to have the crap beaten out of him once he was cornered, and then some for disobeying orders and invading personal space. A lesson in behavior and boundaries, he was told.

Tony hesitated for a moment, and then followed the man in. The room was almost exactly as he remembered, perhaps a bit smaller. Or, he supposed, he was bigger. His eye caught on a glass coffee table, one he remembered from his last time here. He eyed the chip on the edge, remembering all too clearly how it felt to have his head forcefully slammed against the piece of furniture. That had been what stopped the beating. Tony had needed stitches, and was rushed to a doctor, who of course had to sign a non-disclosure agreement. They had the same doctor now, for whenever Tony got too beat up. 

Howard sat in his chair, and gestured for Tony to take a seat opposite of him. Tony did so, stiffly, as though he were in a business meeting, rather than having a conversation with his father.

“Son,” Howard began, and Tony fought the urge to roll his eyes. The moniker was nearly insulting. “I have waited for some time for this day. As you know, when you turn eighteen, you will be inheriting Stark Industries.”

He paused there, waiting for some acknowledgement to the statement. Tony took the que, and nodded.

Howard went on, “And so, I think it best that you begin learning about the company, and what it takes to run it. Officially, I will still own the industries, but, starting now, you and a man who will supervise you will take care of the majority of the business decisions, as preparation and practice for when you will be in charge on your own. All of your decisions, of course, must still be passed through me. Do you understand so far?”

Tony nodded, still quiet. Wrong move. Howard, suddenly angry, barked out, “Answer me when I address you, brat!”

Tony nodded again, then hurried to do as he was told, “Yes, sir, Father. I understand.”

“Good.” Howard’s face eased back to its normal state. “Then, without further ado, I will introduce to you the man who will be supervising your every move. Mr. Obadiah Stane.”

Howard raised a hand to indicate the door behind Tony. In the doorway, stood a towering man, with a white beard and no hair to be seen. He smiled down at Tony, not unkindly.

Howard cleared his throat, bringing Tony’s attention back to himself. He spoke again. “This man will be with you day in and day out. Jarvis has arranged his sleeping accommodations so that he can stay with us.

Tony nodded again, having recognized the stop they reached in Howard’s speech. The older continued, “Do you know what the name Obadiah means, Tony? No? In the bible, it translates to ‘servant of God.’ Obadiah will be here to serve the company in every way he can, just like his name suggests. I would hope you focus yourself much in the same regard. Your name, Anthony, originates as a Roman Clan name. It means ‘worthy of praise.’ Live up to it. Otherwise, strip yourself of your name, for I will not have your shame born upon it. Understood?”

Tony nodded, and then remembered to speak, as he had just been addressed directly. “Yes, sir. Understood, sir.”

He did understand, too. Despite being only ten years old, he understood that hidden in his father’s words were a veiled threat. 

Howard nodded. “Good,” he said, “You’re dismissed.”

Tony stood up promptly, and, after waiting for Obadiah to do the same, exited the room.

Obadiah closed the door behind them, and Tony felt so much more able to breathe. He let out a deep sigh before turning to Obadiah. Tony didn’t yet know what to make of the man. For now, he’d play it cautious. He stuck out a hand and said, with more confidence than he could have in front of his father, and perhaps a bit of cockiness too, “Pleased to meet you, sir. Anthony Stark, at your service.”

The man took Tony’s han in his, and with a firm shake said in a deep and melodic voice, “Nice to meet you too, son. I’m actually great friends with your father. What do you say we be friends as well?”

Tony nodded, smiling slightly. Most people didn’t want to be his friends. The kids his age thought he was a know it all and a freak. The kids older than him thought he was a spoiled rich brat. His friend was Jarvis. But he wouldn't mind having another. 

“Alright, Tony. First thing on our agenda in your CEO training is pizza. I heard it was your birthday! Let’s go get something to celebrate with, huh?”

Tony smiled wider, then laughed. He liked this guy. “Yeah, okay. Just don’t tell my dad.”

Obadiah smiled back. “I’ll keep that in mind, kid.”

…

That night, Tony lay in bed. It had been a good day. His dad had remembered his birthday, and actually gave him something. He made a friend. He got to go out for pizza. And Jarvis had gotten him a rusty old motorcycle to work on. That had been the best ever gift. Jarvis said it didn’t matter where he had gotten it, but Tony wondered. Whatever, he would fix it up for when he was older. Someday he would ride it. 

He smiled as he snuggled deeper into his warm covers. It was such a good day, he was almost able to ignore the sound of his mother, crying three rooms over. She always did that now. Just a shell of what hse used to be.

Tony rolled over, blocking out the sobs drifting in from under the door.

He closed his eyes, and waited for sleep.

It came, and he dreamed. Once again, as he had many years ago, Tony found himself on a beach. The sand was warm and the water cool, a smile on his face as his parents laughed.

It had become a recurring dream for him, a shadow of a memory that trailed after him, soothing him after a long day. When he would wake, the feeling and the memory of the dream would be fleeting, and Tony would once again find himself in his bleak reality. But for a small amount of time at night, Tony found respite.


End file.
